


sleeping beauty's revenge

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Revenge, Sleeping Beauty - Freeform, because that's fun to writeeven if there's not much detail ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i just felt that the pancake day fic needed a sequel okay?</p>
    </blockquote>





	sleeping beauty's revenge

**Author's Note:**

> i just felt that the pancake day fic needed a sequel okay?

“Let’s get plastered tonight,” The words come from nowhere, really. The fucking air. Oblivion. It’s only a surprise because they’ve been lounging in a mutual and comfortable silence for the past hour, Louis’ head in Zayn’s lap toying with the hem of his shirt, and Zayn’s long fingers threading through Louis’ hair, enjoying the peace.

Louis is confused as Hell and maybe Zayn’s gone round the twist or something.

He tells him as such with a pointed stare, because, well, Zayn likes his drink, but he never actually _offers._ Just drops a hint. This is outright asking. Lou thinks he should be worried. “What?” he says, hoping to convey what his stare might not have. He’s still processing the words.

“Let’s get pl-” Zayn starts again, lopsided smirk on his stupid fucking childish face. Louis might smack it off him if he had the energy. He doesn’t.

“Oh no, I heard you, but why? What’s the occasion? It’s a fucking Wednesday,” he says matter of fact as he straightens himself up to really look at Zayn. That stupid grin is still plastered on his face. It’s the one he acquires when he’s up to something. Louis, using his special agent spy skills will wheedle it out of him. Louis’ good at that.

“Yeah, and it’s Thursday tomorrow…”

“So?” Obviously Louis’ missing something. He really wishes Zayn would just get to the point. If Zayn really has gone round the twist then it seems he’s intent on taking Louis with him. To reiterate, he is confused as Hell.

“Soooo Pancake Day was yesterday,” Zayn raises his eyebrows now, so they disappear up into his fringe. Is that a _hopeful_ grin? Is Louis _supposed_ to know what the fuck he’s getting at? Zayn is not getting to any point any time soon. Its equal measures infuriating and intriguing.

“You’re talking in riddles, Malik,”

“Fuck man, what date was it yesterday?” Zayn finally says exasperated. Maybe this is it. Maybe Zayn is finally getting to his point. Praise the fucking heavens.

“Uhm the twelfth?”

“Yeaaaahhh…” Zayn makes a rolling action with his index fingers. Louis’ cue to continue on this little quest through the maze of Zayn’s thoughts. He does but gets nowhere. To reiterate, its equal measures infuriating and intriguing.

“Yeah and so what? What the fuck are you getting at!?” Louis throws his hands up in the air. For emphasis. And also because he likes being a drama queen, okay?

“Think, Lou, you twat,” And that’s. That’s harsh. So whatever it is he’s missing is impor-

“Oh my God! Why would you wanna get hammered the night before Valentine’s Day!? What if I made plans?” Louis hasn’t made plans. He meant to, he really did, but making plans for one of the ‘horniest days of the year’ is fucking _hard_. No pun intended. Or maybe it was. Louis needs tea. Louis is getting up to make tea. Louis is going to drink his tea and then maybe shake some sense into Zayn.

“We both know you didn’t, so this is me making them for us. We get absolutely shitfaced tonight and then we have a good excuse to have the day for ourselves tomorrow. You know we won’t get a minute without the boys if we try and plan anything else, they’ll wanna come along,”

“You pose a good point, a very clever and very good point, Malik,” Louis tells him, emphasising his point by waving the teaspoon in his general direction. And praise the fucking heavens. Louis has found the gold in the centre of the maze. And it’s. It’s pretty brilliant.

“That’s why you love me,” Zayn leans against the counter, smirk on his face again. That stupid childish lopsided smirk that means trouble. Always means trouble. Always. Trouble. Trouble. The point is established, in Louis’ mind.

“No, I’m only in it for the sex, really. I’d hate you if you weren’t such a good shag,” To reiterate, Louis likes being a drama queen. Wound up Zayn means drama will ensue. Sure enough, there’s that troublesome smirk again before he yells,

“Oi!”

“Well okay, maybe I’m in it for the eyelashes too. When I kill you I’m going to cut your eyelids off and sell them to some whore who always wanted long eyelashes after she lost them to alopecia,”

“I hope you realise I’m now going to have to take you for a medical assessment. After I’ve had my wicked way with you tomorrow, of course. Can’t have you going into a mental ward looking sane now, can we?”

“I suppose not, no,” Maybe the whore with alopecia and the decapitating of Zayn, love of his life and fire of his loins, is a bit extreme. Louis is an extreme person but he’s no mental patient. Even so, it could be fun. If Zayn was serious. The smirk speaks for itself, really.

“So. Tonight then? And tomorrow?”

“Ugh fine. Just don’t let me grope anyone I’ll regret,” To reiterate, Louis is an extreme person.

“Oh you won’t be leaving my side, babe, I can fucking assure you,” Zayn pushes off the counter, licks his lips. He looks like a sleek black panther, all dark skin and dark hair and dark _eyes_ that Louis thinks can see into his soul.

“Jealous twat,”

“Whoreface!” there’s a jangling of keys and then the door clicks and in walks a dishevelled looking Harry.

“Who’s a whoreface?” he asks in between mouthfuls of a triangle of toast and glass of orange juice. He’s looking at the two of them, probably trying to figure out who is the bigger whore. Louis knows he is.

“Lou is a whoreface,” and then “did you cross the street with those?”

“Oh,” Harry pauses, holds up his toast and glass. Zayn nods. “Yeah,”

“Oh? You’re not even gunna defend me?” Louis throws his hands in the air, far side of pissed off and choosing to forget about being dramatic. For the moment.

“I’d defend you in a heartbeat, mate, but I can’t if what I’m defending you against is true,” Harry shrugs and takes a gulp of his juice. He grins, mouth still full and Louis seethes. Because how dare he.

“What?! What are you saying, exactly?” _Your best mate is calling you a fucking whoreface, Tomlinson._ That’s what he’s saying. Louis feels he needs to ask though, just in case.

“I’m saying you’re a whoreface, I thought that was clear,” Well. It was clear. But less than expected from Harry. The same Harry who shouted down a rather large bald man in a club who insisted that Louis touched his arse, when secretly, it was a bleach blonde bimbo whom, after being informed, the rather large bald man took home and fucked into his mattress. Or Louis assumes he did. The look on his face certainly screamed lust, anyway.

“Mm that’s not what you were screaming last night babe,” Louis toys, licking his lips and narrowing his eyes. Harry raises an eyebrow and narrows his own eyes, taking a particularly aggressive bite of his toast.

“You were in my bed last night, idiot,” Zayn shoves at his shoulder, snorting.

“ _Ours_ ,” Louis corrects, “and so was Harold, ”

“Fuck off, slut,” Because Zayn is a jealous bastard and also a hypocrite.  Louis sticks out his tongue and Zayn makes a grab for the hem of his teeshirt, slams their chests together, bites down hard on Louis’ shoulder.

“ _Mine_ ,” he practically growls, all animalistic and shit. Jealousy is a massive, massive, ginormic, frickin humongous turn on for Louis. It is.

“Sharing is caring, babe,” Louis replies, smirk edging onto his lips. Zayn just growls again, bites harder, this time on Louis’ neck, and repeats his claim.

“ _Mine_ ,”

 “Hmm love it when you get well jel,” Louis says, hand beginning to slide South, Harry all but forgotten in the background.

“Way to kill the fucking mood Joey Essex,” Zayn retorts, the animal instinct completely lost, eyes light and crinkling in amusement as he shoves Louis off him, unintentionally forceful ( an after effect of the lost sex appeal, maybe?) against the counter. Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat, sucking in a deep breath and setting his glass down.

 “If he hadn’t I might’ve seen my first live action porno, fucking hell. I’ll be in the living room, or wherever. Anywhere that doesn’t involve surfaces that will have to be disinfected four times before I make my dinner,”

“You’re cooking your dinner here?” and then, “Why don’t you join us?”

“You know where everything is, Haz, yeah? Get out, Lou. We’re going. Now.”

“Later then?”

“Yeah, sorry mate. Had this night out planned for ages, ”

Harry just shrugs, and walks into the living room, plopping down on the sofa.

-

It’s later now. Much later. And Louis can’t even form coherent sentences anymore because he’s _thrumming_ with energy and there’s alcohol in his veins instead of blood and he’s probably more pissed than Zayn but he’s fucking happy as fuck so screw Zayn to Hell ( _which he plans on doing at some point tonight, maybe in the loo’s?)_ and why the fuck hasn’t Zayn gotten him another shot yet? Oh yeah. Maybe because Zayn’s hands are busy cupping his arse.

“Fuck,” he says, grinding against Zayn, groaning, through its drowned out by the music or maybe that’s Louis heart that sounds like it’s dropping the bass and Louis is fucking awesome with hilarious metaphors when he’s pissed. The club and the alcohol and Zayn’s hands are making him horny and he wants to fuck Zayn right here and now so he tells him.

“What?” Zayn replies, smirk on his face, hands moving to his waist. Louis whines. Zayn is dumb.

“Fuck,” and Louis really is a slut. He’s grinding and groaning and his hands are everywhere and Zayn is just standing there smirking like an idiot and he isn’t even hard and why the fuck isn’t he turned on yet this is his dream goddamnit. Maybe it’s Louis’ dream.

Zayn laughs. He has the cheek to laugh in Louis’ face. “What, now? Here?” this is definitely not Zayn’s dream. “I think you’re fucking hammered,” and after a teasingly soft grope of Louis’ dick through his jeans, “and besides, you’re not nearly hard enough. Let’s get you home, yeah?” Louis is plenty hard enough. Zayn is dumb.

“Nu uh. Here good. Here we fuck. Now.” The words tumble from Louis’ lips as he presses his palm flat against Zayn’s jeans, right over where there should be a rock solid hard-on that mirrors Louis’. There isn’t. Louis is fucking disappointed.

“Stop touching my dick, Lou,” Hypocrite.

“M’not. M’gropin’,”

“Yeah and you’ve been doing it since we got here, I thought we established I’m not gonna fuck you in the middle of dance floor,”

“But you’ve been – you – and I - ”

“We’re not fucking, Louis,”

But of course Louis cannot be denied anything ever because he’s Louis Fucking Tomlinson and everyone adores him and he’s a spoilt brat but he loves it and so even Zayn is impervious to the enigma that is Louis Fucking Tomlinson and that is why only twetny sjort minutes later Louis Fucking Tomlinson is being shoved through his front door at lightning speed stumbling past a gently snoring Harry on the sofa and into their bedroom. Zayn is on top of him the moment his back hits the mattress.

“Fuck, Lou,” and the lust in Zayn’s eyes is sobering. Louis is finally getting what he wants. Between breaths and groans and forgetting to breathe and forgetting they have company downstairs and groaning much too loud, Louis asks,

“So now you wanna fuck me?”

“Mm, was gunna,” Zayn kisses his collarbone, open mouthed, tugs at his teeshirt. Louis complies and then they’re both naked from the waist up. When did Zayn takes his teeshirt off anyway? “was gunna leave you wanting,” Louis’ jeans pool at his ankles, trapped by his converse, as Zayn’s hands roam again. Louis isn’t breathing and he wishes Zayn would get to the point. “till t’morrow. Revenge.” He places a sloppy kiss to Louis’ mouth, licks the seam of his lips hungrily. Louis’ mind is almost fogging over at this point, all blood in his body rushing to his dick, when suddenly it all rushes back to its appropriate place and he’s thinking clearly. He shoves at Zayn’s shoulder and looks him in the eye, their lips popping apart with an obscene _'smack'._

“Revenge? For what?”

“Twelfth of Feb, Lou,” Zayn says, straddling Louis hips now, leaning in for another kiss, eyebrows raised. Everything clicks into place and Louis is filled with a sudden sense of clarity as he stares deep into Zayn's eyes, as if he's reading his mind and Zayn is smiling as though he knows.

“Oh my God! I woke you up yesterday, _with pancakes might I add_ , so you were gonna deny me a fuck until Valentines?  After getting me all worked up and hammered and fucking harder than I’ve ever been in my life? Cruel, Malik. Beyond cruel. I hate you, I hope you know that.”

“I hate you more, now can we get back to that fucking I was supposed to keep you waiting for?”

“Only if you can make me as hard as I was in that club,”

“Easy peasy,” Zayn smirks, gripping Louis through his boxers. And, if at all possible, Louis instantly hardens and it’s harder than it was when he was harder than he’d ever been in his life. He thinks Zayn should take revenge more often.


End file.
